Even If I Wanted To
by anime gher
Summary: Taito. Yaoi, drug use, language, character death. It's years later and everyone's grown up but nobody is who they want to be


Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon or any of the following characters… I just like to mess around with them past the point of all recognition.

Taichi bounced the soccer ball from knee to knee, passing to his head, bouncing it off his chest and rushing forward to catch it again all the while walking home. Even if he had a duffel bag stuffed with his uniform and playing shoes swinging along against his hip, Taichi still managed the ball. It was a habit of his, not about to waste a single second of possible training time. He practiced longer and harder than anyone else on the team did, and it paid off in the end...even if it was a relative mess to get home. He wore a baseball hat to hide his trademark hair, simply because a bandana would come lose easily. Even in a plain, single-colored windbreaker and sweat pants, Taichi Yagami was easy to spot as Japan's National Soccer League's number one champion. One sweet scholarship through college and a lucky break with a scout at a playoff game later; he was Japan's youngest professional soccer player as well. Nobody could say that he paid his way in or slept around like some of the other players on the team, because Taichi didn't even have time for friends. He practiced, ate, practiced, napped, practiced, and went to sleep with the soccer ball rolling around on the floor next to his bed. It was his dream come true, and he worked for it full-heartedly. The team's manager paid for Taichi's decent one-bedroom apartment and have him a weekly staple that left Taichi finally having to get a bank account because he simply couldn't have that sort of money lying around the place. His life was perfect as long as he played a good game of soccer.

Which was exactly what he had done today. Taichi had _almost _beaten the record for most consecutive points in a game by a single player, only three short. He was almost there. His coach was talking about the Olympics now. He was already a crowd favorite, able to work with his team and work in stunning individual play as well. He admitted to being flamboyant sometimes, dancing around other players; but that was only when they could afford to. They had yet to lose a game, and because of that, Taichi ran the serious risk of being mauled by every soccer fan in the national wait for his signature. He had made the mistake once of going amongst the fans without guards...and had been dragged back to safety, minus a shirt and one shoe. Even still, he remained remarkably levelheaded about it all. He wasn't about to let fame get the best of him, writing signatures on soccer balls until his hand cramped, going to schools in problem neighborhoods for free to show the kids how to play. He loved being a sports hero, even if it had come with a strange set of down sides.

Like him having to go home at three in the morning. The crowd hadn't really thinned out until nighttime, and just to be sure, Taichi had practiced for another hour or two. He didn't want to be caught by anyone tonight, already gave his complete effort to playing in the game earlier today. The street was practically empty, an occasional bicycle or taxi running by. There was only the glow of neon signs and vending machines lighting the path, a few dogs parking in the distance, a drunk person yelling some odd-number of blocks off. It was a typical night in the city, the sky feeling closer as the city lights reflected off of heavy clouds. There was going to be rain soon, Taichi could smell it in the air. He should probably hurry home before this storm finally broke like the weatherman had been warning all weekend.

"_I try to discover,_" came out an amazingly deep and melodic voice despite how obviously drunk the singer must be. The words were slurred together, but the notes were strong. Taichi couldn't help but glance down the wide alley off to the side, framed by two tall buildings and electrical wires hanging back and forth. He almost couldn't see anyone at first, wondering if he might of even imagined it.

"_A little something to make me sweeter_," the rest of the line finally came out from a shadowy person stumbling down the middle of the walkway. Taichi couldn't tell if it was the voice or the song that were beginning to sound familiar, but he caught the soccer ball in midair and stopped altogether. He could only stand there, watching as a male figure disengaged itself from the darkness of the night and using a glass bottle as a microphone.

"_Oh, baby, refrain...from breaking my- _heart," the singing abruptly tapered off into a monotone shock, brilliant blue eyes blinking at him in something that resembled a deer caught in headlights. It was like a ghost had stepped into the dull light of the street lamp buzzing overheard, terribly white skin glowing in contrast the otherwise dirty and predictable city buildings. The hair was so pale-blonde that it was practically a halo, even in a messy ponytail that was barely holding together. He was older now, his face longer, features more distinct elegant, no more of that residual baby fat. In fact, there was very little spare weight on Yamato at all. He was in a pair of black leather pants that would have been sexy if they weren't so loose, falling off of his hips despite the oversized and studded leather belt. He was wearing a purple silk-shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loosely around bony shoulders despite the winter cold. He had actually managed to shrink since Taichi had last seen him, staying just as tall but obviously imploding. Yamato had the look of a suffering Christ, obviously amazed at suddenly running into Taichi like this. His face was a sickly pale and covered in sweat, a fat and dried drip of blood underneath one nostril and no visible bruises. Taichi could easily guess then that Yamato had been doing things he shouldn't, looked used-up and washed-out in front of the entrance back into the alley.

The years had..._not _been kind to Yamato Ishida.

Taichi was caught with his mouth open, his childhood friend standing there in front of him, in the last spot, the last time, and the last fucking way he would ever think! He didn't have words, a hundred things he wanted to say, had to tell Yamato about. It had been so damn _long _since he had last seen the blonde that he didn't even know where to start. The only problem was, Taichi had to get over the shock of seeing Yamato intoxicated. The Yamato he knew hated to be out of control in the first place, and had sometimes even talked about how much he hated the stuff for what it did to his father. He wasn't the type to get trashed...or at least, he hadn't been.

"Taichi, are you for real, man?" Yamato hissed out as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He started to approach; his feet dragging along the ground as the blonde made an obvious effort to stay in a straight line. The bottle was dropped from lifeless fingers, shattering on the pavement; also making Taichi aware of the tattoo on Yamato's wrist. It was a ring of flames crawling up his forearm, bright red fading into a soft yellow at the end. Yamato stepped over the glass and pooling alcohol heedlessly, coming to stand almost too close in front of him. The blonde absolutely reeked of liquor and tangy smoke, sniffing and rubbing at his bloody nose white bloodshot eyes. Yamato's motions switched from languid to frantic, scratching randomly at his neck. He had more jewelry on than even most women would wear, fat silver rings on each fingers, a large cross hanging around his neck, and earrings stabbed into every possible part of his ears and even one through his left eyebrow. Taichi didn't like excessive jewelry; thought it was ugly and looked painful, but for some reason the silver glowed and sparkled on Yamato.

"Ha. You still have your soccer ball. Just like old times, man, old times. You remember, right?" Yamato asked in a rush, suddenly becoming more animated as he pointed at the ball forgotten in Taichi's hands. It was like a flip was being toggled inside the man's head between drunk and plain freaked out. Yamato was tugging on his earlobe now, the other hand scratching at his elbow in a twitchy motion. The blonde couldn't even stand still, his shoes scraping against the sidewalk as he trembled to his left and right.

"Yeah...I remember. You had your guitar," Taichi picked his words carefully; slowly realizing that his dear old best friend was extremely drugged out. He resisted the urge to run screaming, frozen to the spot in pure horror. The last time he had seen Yamato was a few days after high school graduation, both of them announcing they were going to leave their hometown to follow their dreams. Taichi had been offered a chance to play professionally up in Sapporo, and Yamato was finally going to go on tour outside the country. They had both promised to stay in touch, to call or write...and promptly never heard from each other again. It was amazing how easily people could grow apart, Taichi not having much contact with any of his childhood friends. The digital world would have simply been a childhood fantasy if there still weren't special programs on TV trying to explain the mysterious monsters that appeared years ago. Despite how crazy their adventures had been, it still wasn't quite as surprising as meeting Yamato tonight on the empty sidewalk, blue eyes fever-bright in the light.

"Oh, _man_. Fuck, where's my guitar?" Yamato slowly asked Taichi in sudden horror, obviously expecting an answer. "I gotta find it," he announced loudly, turning around suddenly like he was simply going to go back the way he came. Taichi could only stare, rather lost at that point. He couldn't let Yamato just wander around, not in the state he was in. The blonde made a few hesitant steps toward a row of bicycles parked against a brick planter, then spun back around. He blinked at Taichi as if noticing him for the first time, coming right back up to him again.

"Have _you_ seen my guitar?" Yamato asked, clearly forgetting ever having a conversation with Taichi in the first place. His voice was a little more panicked now, obviously becoming distress at the disappearance of his instrument. Taichi wondered where it could even be in the first place, watching Yamato slowly trip out in front of him. He had never seen the guy drunk before; they had never been old enough to buy alcohol before. Nor had they know where to get designer drugs, which was what Taichi sadly had to assume Yamato was on right now. He tried not to think about how many articles he'd seen of yet another musician drowning in alcohol, drugs, or their own vomit, the blonde swaying on his feet.

"Yeah...Yeah, I've seen it. It's back at my place, remember?" Taichi quickly tried to lie, feeling cheap for doing so. It was like dealing with the younger kids he had soccer workshops with, and he hated putting Yamato down on that level at the same time. There was really no other choice, not when the blonde was acting so out-of-sorts. Taichi couldn't leave him to wander the streets; he might as well beat Yamato up for his wallet and steal his boots himself.

"Shit, Taichi, of course I will," Yamato answered it...oddly. Taichi stared, freezing the middle of putting his soccer ball into his duffel bag. He had a feeling he would need both hands to handle the thin blonde right now. Despite appearance, Yamato knew how to fight- and also packed a pretty mean punch. Taichi would rather not get in a fight right now, quickly coming to the decision that he needed to get Yamato someplace where he could sober up. There was no way he could talk to the blonde when he was this messed up; doubting that Yamato would even be able to tell him where he lived.

"Can you ask the question again?" Yamato slurred, stumbling as his knees gave out. Taichi rushed forward, easily catching the guitarist before he could hit the cement. He looped one arm up around his shoulders and tugged the taller man up against his side, shaking his head at this madness. Yamato only giggled like he was playing some odd game as punishment for never writing the guy. Taichi knew how it was, doubting that his letter would make it through the hundreds of fan mail the blonde probably got everyday. The Teenage Wolves popularity through high-school almost made it impossible to turn on the TV without seeing his best friend's face plastered all over the place; the same clip playing over and over again of Yamato singing his heart out into a microphone, eyes closed in concentration and mouth open as wide as possible to drive up the note...and he was cheapened by the advertisements running along the bottom, the glitter make-up the new publicity representative had forced him to wear. But, it had been forever since Taichi had watched any channel that could possibly have Yamato on it...because that was the way life had gone. It hadn't been some conscious decision on his part, not in the slightest- except now Taichi wished he had kept up to date so he could know what had possibly led to Yamato's downfall. .

"A_...and if I should fall down_," Yamato sang-mumbled against the side of Taichi's face, too drunk to even keep his head steady. He was back to a limp, unsteady mass of human being. He was _warm_, body heat pouring off of him even through Taichi's jacket. Yamato sighed in relief as someone helped shored up his weight, sweat beginning to make Yamato's arm stick where it was hooked around Taichi's neck. This just wasn't normal, and for some reason it frightened Taichi even more than the drastic weight loss and docility of his friend.

"Aren't you cold? Don't you have a coat?" Taichi asked, looking down the alley just in case. He wouldn't doubt it if Yamato had dropped it somewhere along the line of singing aloud to this empty city night.

"Taichi, man, coats are for _suckers_," Yamato shot right back through whatever haze he was in, unbelievably arrogant even though he needed Taichi's support to stand right now. Taichi sighed, grumbling as he began to haul the blonde down the street, in the direction of the imaginary guitar. It really shouldn't have been this easy to convince the blonde to simply come along with him, even if they had been good friends. It had been a while since he had so much as heard from the blonde and he was beginning to see why. Yamato tripped more often than not, soon panting hard in exertion from the pace Taichi set _while _mostly carrying another human being. He couldn't believe that this was the same Yamato, the face slightly resembling the one Taichi had known as a kid. Well, if Taichi squinted to blur out the excessive pierces and ignored the smell.

"Are we flying now, babe?" Yamato yelled it out down the street, no doubt going through circles because he was walking at a normal pace. Taichi wondered how long Yamato had been like this, loud enough to make one window slam shut above their heads in protest. Taichi sighed, the blonde not making any sense right now- hell, he could barely even get his feet to stumble along evenly, falling hard against Taichi and laughing obnoxiously at it.

"Shh, Yamato," Taichi tried, not wanting to cause a disturbance this late at night that might bring people out. He didn't want to deal with police over a noise complaint when Yamato was so badly out of sorts. The blonde only glared at him, trying to stand still to face off with Taichi but being dragged along faster, against his will.

"Don't fucking 'shh' me, you goddamn... 'shh'er," Yamato tried to sound angry and impressive, but he just couldn't scrape together a functional insult. So much for their first reunion in who knew how many years. Taichi shook his head and fixed his grip on Yamato's wrist and the other hand wrapped around the blonde's minuscule waist. At least they weren't too far from his apartment, since Yamato was already getting splotchy-faced and wheezing like he couldn't go on much further. Taichi couldn't ask him anything simply, like what Yamato was doing right now, where he was living...if he had a girlfriend yet, or even _worse_: a wife. The blonde didn't look like he had much of anything at this point, gone quiet and even less cooperative than before. By the time Taichi started wrestling out his keys to unlock the front door, Yamato was moaning at every step and doing his best to faint dead against him. They got through the door, what little patience Taichi had in the first place already being sorely tested. He suddenly _hated _the old apartment building, the tiled floors and high ceilings no longer attractive as they had first been. The place always smelled funny and the manager could never be found to fix a broken window or sink, the elevator mostly there for show. Taichi lived on the fifth floor, but he was type who enjoyed a good climb up the stairs. It would probably kill Yamato right now.

"Hey, Yamato, wake up a bit, will you? We have a little bit of climbing to do," Taichi asked gently, wondering if there was any way to possible coax Yamato into climbing the stairs himself. He could probably do with the exercise to help work out whatever was in his system right now. Yamato turned bleary, sky-blue eyes around on Taichi, hypnotic in their intensity, studying him for a moment as if trying to figure out exactly where Taichi fit in his current reality. He licked his lips, bringing Taichi's focus down as he started at Yamato's mouth. He had first begun to finally appreciate the guitarist's lips when he sung; somehow managing to make them quiver and twitch when he produced that most amazing sound. It had just been so long that Taichi had forgotten all those little quirks that had made up Yamato.

"No, no... I dun wan' any more," Yamato said at last in less-than-coherent tones, still very high and far away from Taichi at the moment. He was more determined to try falling asleep while standing up, hobbling through the lobby as he was dragged over to the stairs. Taichi sighed, adjusting the weight for a moment before finally just giving up. The blonde had enough time for a startled yelp before he grabbed Yamato underneath the knees and hefted him up like a child. Taichi wished it wasn't as easy as it was. He pressed barbells that weighed more than Yamato, the only thing making this awkward was Yamato's long legs...and the blonde nuzzling into Taichi's neck, a soft giggle brushing against his skin. It was hard not to accidentally drop his inebriated load right then and there, groaning and trying very hard not to think about how much it tickled.

Thankfully, taking the first step jarred Yamato's mouth away from his neck. Taichi couldn't bear to be so close to the blonde anyway, not about to remember some certain mistakes he had made during high school. That past was the past, and Taichi was more interested in the now- like the now of why in the hell Yamato was in this bad of shape. He couldn't even be trusted to walk home by himself, much less up several flights of stairs. Which was why Taichi now had the distinct pleasure of hauling Yamato up, whom by the third floor was no longer as light as he had been. Anything started to get heavy after a while, and despite it all, Yamato was still a full-grown adult. Taichi was sweating himself by the time he finally exited the stairwell to walk down the thin balcony. One side was open to the street below, an obstructed view of the wildly overgrown city, clubs and more neon signs blinking against the steel-framed apartment doors and windows separating them. Yamato was mumbling something and Taichi didn't know if that was a sign that he was awake or not for this visit to his place. He walked down a ways to find his door, unlocking it and finally coming home at last.

It was dark inside, but Taichi didn't need the lights to know the way around. He toed off his old sneakers while doing his best to keep Yamato nice and level. It probably wouldn't do to drop the blonde right now, definitely not needing to be rattled around some more. He wanted to just lie Yamato down on the couch and leave him be until the blonde was back to his senses...and also was wrinkling his nose at the thought. Yamato definitely didn't _smell _clean right now, and a shower might even help the poor bastard out at this point. He passed through the darkened living room that opened up into the kitchen, a small and efficient hallway leading to the bedroom, an extra closet, and a bathroom. He had to crab-step in sideways, carefully minding Yamato's feet through the doorway. Once inside the small bathroom, Taichi dropped Yamato back down into a standing position. He let go slightly, holding his hands out to catch the blonde just in case as Yamato wavered around- then started making a dive for the floor.

"Hey, wake up, rock star," Taichi demanded as he caught his old friend by the arm. He lightly slapped Yamato on the face until the musician finally moaned and starting shaking his head in an attempt to get away. Taichi let go of Yamato and this time the guy finally stood on his own. Taichi turned around to throw his duffel bag, baseball hat, and a jacket into the hallway for later, flipping on the light in the bathroom afterward. Yamato threw up his hands in a delayed response to shield his eyes from the light; almost pitiful and dirty like some street orphan in the settings of a clean bathroom. Taichi hadn't noticed it before, but Yamato was filthy, looked like he had been binge drinking for days. He just stared at the boy who used to take more time fixing his hair than doing his homework shivering in the middle of his bathroom, his eyes shrunken in and bruised when Yamato finally lowered his arms. There was a scuff mark underneath his chin and his elbows were still bloody from a fall or such. Taichi could only guess at what could have possibly happened to his friend, since Yamato was too drugged up to explain.

"You want to take off your shoes?" Taichi asked at last, wondering if Yamato was even coherent enough to understand him. Apparently, he was; sickeningly obedient as kicked off two large boots without saying a word, too drunk to bend down and undo the laces. Yamato usually had some kind of smart remark, a witty comment that was funny until Taichi finally realized that it was being directed at him. He didn't just go silent- and then Taichi realized that he _had _gone silent for a good couple of years. Yamato hadn't made a single phone call or written once after high school...and Taichi hadn't either. Maybe he felt guilty because of that, somehow feeling like he could have prevented Yamato from falling down like this if he had just kept in contact. Despite getting the Crest of Friendship, Yamato _did _have a hard time making friends, always coming off as cool and arrogant. Taichi knew that all that sarcasm and attitude was to cover up how horribly alone he was. Taichi could sense a true loneliness in Yamato like he'd never seen in any other person before, in the way he was desperately overprotective of his little brother. It had stirred something up in him, not quite pity, but close enough. Yamato had always been walking around with some inner pain, but now that they were all grown up he really looked like it.

Taichi found it slightly harder to get Yamato out of his shirt on account of having to navigate two unresponsive and bony arms out of the sleeves. He threw the shirt into the hallway as well, already debating whether to wash it or burn it...and became aware of many things when he turned back to Yamato. His starvation was in even more apparent; ribs that tapered into a small drop of torso before hips jutted out again. His bellybutton was pierced with two large stainless steel balls before the metal loop There were more tattoos than just the flames burning up his wrist. On his left shoulder was a five-point star covering the outside of his arm, the inside alternating between a light blue and a solid black. On the opposite arm was a crescent moon inside a circle, the exact same size and spot. There was a smaller star inside the circle in the hole the moon left, a little spot of black night sky on Yamato's flesh. He still had pale nipples, a shade pinker than the skin surrounding those two perky nubs. At the base of his spine there was yet another tattoo, a solid black and ethnic-looking pattern that curved out over both hips. It was like a set of wings...or claws. Taichi couldn't really decide. What interested him more was the purple and green bruise on the inside of Yamato's arm, several nasty injection holes punching through the skin.

"What the hell is this?" Taichi couldn't help yelling it, grabbing the blonde's wrist to drag the bruising closer for a better look. Just how many drugs was Yamato on right now? Yamato blinked up at him, long bangs obscuring half his face as he gazed down at the injection marks

"What the hell is _this_?" Yamato echoed back, a vacant look in his eyes. Taichi could have slapped the blonde for playing 'repeat' right now before Yamato suddenly twisted his arm out of Taichi's grasp, stronger than he had been giving the guy credit for. He swayed at the end of it, reaching out to catch himself on the towel bar installed into the wall. Yamato suddenly pointed down at himself, to his nakedness, to the little bit of even paler blonde than the hair on his head speckled underneath his bellybutton and making a nice line down to the front of Yamato's pants. He gritted his teeth, determined to look at Yamato's face; and not liking what he saw there at all. Yamato's eyes were simply _dead_ not a trace of emotion reflected back other than this smart 'I-told-you-so' manner.

"Wanna help a friend so bad, huh? You wanna touch this, _huh_?" Yamato spat out, unzipping the front of his pants and shoving them off of his hips to catch around his knees. There was a pair of harsh black underwear, strings going around to the back in a fashion that Taichi had only found on women before. He admitted to staring for a moment, but who wouldn't?! Yamato was wobbling back and forth; smiling like an idiot that knew some secret...something that Taichi was horribly unaware of.

"Oh, just shut up," Taichi warned tiredly, not about to get caught up in this weird joke. Yamato mouthed it right back at him with a sneer, wiggling his hips just so. Taichi couldn't really take anymore at that point; glaring hard at the oblivious drunkard- and _worse, _Taichi reminded himself. He felt like he was trapped inside the video they had shown in seventh grade of a heroin addict freaking out from withdrawals. It wasn't supposed to be _Yamato_, and Taichi certainly didn't want to deal with this on a Wednesday night. He grabbed that ugly underwear, tugging it down with the rest of Yamato's pants while the blonde began to scream insults at him, a weak fist bouncing off his shoulder.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Yamato yelled, making a run for the door. It was child's play to grab the blonde and slam him back up against the wall. Taichi wanted to punch the damned idiot, used to deal with his fellow teammates having one too many drinks and having to make sure they got home safe. This was far different- substances that Taichi wasn't even really sure of the _name_, much less guess the effect on the blonde. Yamato just screamed at him, cursing new phrases that Taichi barely even understood- but he knew that it wasn't nice. The blonde was panicking; struggling desperately as if he thought Taichi was going to murder him, making this _horrible _mewling sound underneath it all. He slapped the taller man soundly, using that momentary daze to toss Yamato into the open shower stall. The musician hit the wall and slid down, huddling in the corner pathetically. Taichi almost felt sorry for bullying him in the first place..._almost_, until Yamato started wailing pitifully, open-mouthed sobs full of anguish. He was sure to bring the neighbors soon.

"Shut up! Just shut up! You _stink, _you goddamned drunk! Calm down and wash yourself off!" Taichi screamed at the sniveling blonde, just so _angry _that Yamato had fallen so hard and fast. He turned on the hot water while Yamato yelped and cried harder. Taichi only threw the cheap plastic door closed, falling down heavily on top of the toilet. He couldn't _believe _this, listening to Yamato trying desperately to control his tears underneath the flow of water. The bathroom wasn't big enough for him to hide away from this, wincing each time Yamato choked, tried to control his crying, failed again and whimpered on the other side of the distorted, semi-clear door. His hand hurt from where he had hit Yamato, doing it so instinctively that he almost didn't even realize committing the act in the first place. Taichi sighed, running hands through his now loose hair. He had just won an important game for qualifying to nationals. He should be happy. He should be tearing his heart out over a friend he hadn't talked to in years. But, it couldn't help but hurt to hear Yamato so distraught, intoxicated or not. The blonde was supposed to be stronger than this. Yamato would never turn to drugs, would never get sucked up into the high-paced world of professional musicians that Taichi only heard about on TV. He had a taste of it himself, being a sports star; but it was likely nothing compared to someone who put out CDs and performed live in the city opera center...or at least had been. Taichi wasn't even sure any more.

Steam started pouring out from above the shower door, condensing on the mirror and rolling out into the hallway. Taichi realized he had forgotten to turn on any cold water to balance out the flow- and remembered that Yamato could damn well turn the knob himself if it was too hot. It could be a good lesson if the guitarist was too drunk to manage that. He was mad at Yamato for acting this way, for not talking to him in the past years, for suddenly turning to drugs. He could hate Yamato, who no longer cared enough about his body or good looks to even be healthy. Who just put a needle to their skin, willingly? Taichi still whined like a five-year-old when he had to go to the hospital and get blood drawn for a charity fund-raiser, hating the sensation of metal sliding into his skin. It seemed like Yamato practically got off on it, so many piercings and holes through his skin. Taichi didn't like all that jewelry and tattoos, remembering how damn pretty Yamato was through high school, sure to grow into some masculinity as the years went on...not some head case sobbing in his shower. He had always had a nice body that made people turn their heads, women and men alike, but now Yamato had practically mangled it. Not just on the outside, but who knew what substances he was pumping inside? The worst Taichi had ever seen was steroids on of his fellow players offered him- right before Taichi reported it to the head coach. He hated people who tried to use drugs to better themselves or escape reality. It was a weakness...one that he thought Yamato would never have. The blonde had always been so painfully independent, not about to listen to anyone or anything. Where had that cold determination gone? It wasn't something a person just grew out of, like Taichi could possibly understand Yamato finally not taking so much time and effort to do his hair. It was like he was meeting a completely different person, not sure if he had picked up the right drunken blonde on a bad trip.

Eventually it was only the sound of the shower running, the crying fading out so long ago that Taichi hadn't even noticed it. This shower was starting to take far too long, in Taichi's opinion. He still needed to wash off himself, after carrying Yamato all the way back home. Taichi finally got off of the toilet, throwing open the door to give the rock star a piece of his mind, quite frankly fed up-...

Yamato was sprawled loosely at the bottom of the floor, wet and limp, pale limbs turning a nice cherry underneath the steaming hot water. Long, blonde hair was covering Yamato's face, nothing but pale and lanky limbs turning a nice pink-red from the heat of the water. Taichi cursed himself, reaching through the flow, wincing away at the scalding heat before somehow managing to turn the knob off. The water remaining in the stall slowly drained out, a few droplets of condensation still falling as Taichi stared at the mess he'd made. He had really thought that Yamato would be able to turn the water down if it had been too hot for him like any normal human being, not just lie there and take it until he passed out. He didn't think that Yamato had been _that _messed up, beyond any kind of drunk or high that Taichi was remotely familiar with. He had messed around a little bit in college, but he had never done anything serious; like whatever Yamato must have in his system now.

Taichi cursed, left to pray that Yamato hadn't manage to burn his skin on top of it all, grumbling as he hauled the slick body out of the shower and up to his feet. Yamato began to rouse at the rough handling, unable to stand by himself but still trying to push away from Taichi. Frankly, it was too much to have a soaking wet body pressed on his own when it had been months since his last date... Yamato was propped up easily enough against the wall while Taichi grabbed a towel to wrap around his hips for decency before he started removing all that jewelry. Taichi took off a grand total of fifteen rings; all silver but each one unique and individually fashioned, one cross-necklace along with a light silver, chain-link choker that was so fine Taichi almost didn't notice it. He debated taking out a few of those hoops in Yamato's ears, figuring that a guy only needed one hole in his ear at _most_… but had always respected Yamato's decisions before. Taichi didn't like the eyebrow ring messing up the otherwise perfect forehead, but when his eyes fell down on Yamato's bellybutton, he decided that piercing was something he could live with. The metal caught the light momentarily as the blonde simply breathed, glistening in the little divot of mile-white skin. Amazing how that little motion could be so beautiful, so elegant on a human being. Sighing, Taichi decide that the best course of action would be to just clench his eyes shut and dry Yamato off as best as possible that way. They were both boys, and there really wasn't anything to be so embarrassed about, but for some reason...

Taichi could tell himself it was just because he hadn't had a girl in so long. That was the only reason why he was having such weird thoughts tonight. He was tired after the game, off-balance after finding Yamato blazed out of his mind and wandering around in the streets; just a bunch of little reasons to explain why Taichi was still even thinking about this! It was Yamato's own fault for growing his hair out even longer and wearing purple nail polish on both fingers and toes… that matched the bruises spotted all over the blonde. They looked like Yamato might have just gotten them falling down earlier tonight, which Taichi would bet the guitarist had been doing a lot of judging from how intoxicated he was when Taichi had found him- and yet didn't think that was it. He was rather familiar with bruises, getting them all the time when he played in serious soccer games. These looked older, in places that were specifically meant to hurt, especially around his stomach. Yamato could have fallen down on his side _that _many times. Taichi wished that Yamato were sober, because he wanted to ask if Yamato was really doing okay these days. It didn't very much seem like it, the blonde not quite able to even make a proper moan- just gasping and weakly coughing whenever he was jostled too hard. He tried to coax Yamato into walking forward, but when both the towel and blonde started falling, Taichi ended up making a grab for both. He efficiently swept Yamato's feet out from under him, knowing already from experience that the rockstar was more than light enough to carry in his arms. The towel miraculously hung on, leaving Taichi somewhat okay with the mostly naked blonde being so close. He had been _completely _naked only seconds ago. What fine timing to start really getting embarrassed, glad that Yamato was unconscious for him blushing like some teenage girl.

He took Yamato into the bedroom, which was covered in dirty laundry, books he had never read and never gotten bookshelves for, and an extra one of everything he needed for soccer. Taichi knew he would break things, almost second nature to accidentally drop or step on an important piece of equipment. The only difference was now he had a budget for it, able to be prepared now instead of running around on field without any shin guards. He was sure that if Yamato was coherent for this, he would bitch about how dirty it was or how Taichi had fucked up the feng-shui of place. Yamato had always been into weird stuff like that. Funny how it should have been some sort of tip-off, but Taichi still would have never expected his best friend to start using drugs. He laid Yamato down on top of the bed, backing off as the thin, shaking mess of a person curled into the pile of sheets that Taichi had never bothered to pull back up on the mattress. Yamato was already passed out, apparently content with being someplace dry and clean… not even realizing that he was in an actual bed.

"You better thank me in the morning," Taichi warned the oblivious guest on his bed, taking the time to pull Yamato up onto the pillows and tug the blankets over him. The blonde was already snoring, either completely at ease because Yamato knew he was with a friend- or he was finally horizontal with enough room to spread out. The stupid celebrity had been too high to even recognize his right hand, much less an old acquaintance. Taichi wanted to asked Yamato about the Digital World, if he remembered it too. Taichi didn't want to be the only one that held onto that part of his childhood, who actually knew the answers the scientists were still seeking to try and explain when Digimon had appeared all over Earth.

Figuring that it would be alright to leave Yamato in the bedroom, Taichi finally returned the shower for a wash of his own. It was times like these that he was thankful he lived in an apartment building with an almost endless supply of hot water. Of course, he didn't take one nearly as warm as the one Yamato had. It was just long enough to wash out his hair, soap himself off, and stand there thinking for a few minutes afterward. Taichi got out a new towel on autopilot. Drying himself down mechanically as he remembered what it had been like to do the same to Yamato only moments before. The blonde had soft skin, almost like any woman's; as Taichi even _knew _what a woman was like. He wasn't a virgin, but he just didn't have sex very much. Yamato had been oozing sensuality since the moment he had stumbling into a well-lit area, whether he meant to or not. It was just a natural trait, like the color of his eyes. One had to accept the fact that Yamato Ishida was a very enticing individual, regardless of sexual orientation. Taichi flicked some extra water off from the bottom of his nose. It wasn't like that sort of thing matter to him. It had been so long since sex that he had practically forgotten about it all together. There was nothing but soccer for him, not about to waste energy by pounding some blonde musician into the wa-...

_My God, I _really _did just think that_, Taichi caught himself in horrible mid-thought, forced to come to the realization that he wouldn't really mind if he found Yamato underneath him... except Yamato wasn't a girl! Taichi threw a hand up against the wall, trying very hard not to succumb to these sorts of thoughts. He had successfully managed to keep all romantical thoughts at bay over the past couple of years, so why would he so easily falling apart because Yamato _still _looked good. Taichi had admitted it freely before, to everyone except the one person that needed to hear it. He had always been honest, once announcing a little too loudly how much he liked Yamato when he got dressed up and danced on stage back in high school. It would have been fine, except he was supposed to be dating Sora at the time, who hadn't appreciated the sentiment at all.

"_You know he loves you, right?" Sora asked with a sigh, stirring her Pepsi with a straw. Taichi looked up from his own meal of two combos and extra fries, only meaning to have a date with his girlfriend. Well, if a few kisses and one grope in a swimming pool counted. It was already spring, the last days before high school was finally over. Everyone had been getting emotional about it lately, some girls openly crying in the hallways as they realized they would never attend the same school with their friends again. Taichi wasn't really concerned with it, knowing that the world was going to work out how it worked out. He wasn't a person to get caught up in the small details. Sora was though, which was why he thought they had always made a good couple...except when she began to start talking trash. He had never seen a more negative person in his life some times when Sora began to gossip. _

"_Of course he loves me. I love him. We're friends, that's what friends do!" Taichi answered back before taking another bite of his cheeseburger. He didn't know why Sora had chosen to bring up Yamato, of all people. The blonde didn't show up at school very much any more, always busy with his band, live-performances, publicity stunts, and finding time to sleep on top of it all. Taichi still dropped by to Yamato's place with his dad just to check up on the blonde when too many days had gone by without the jerk even showing up to class. For some reason, the door was never locked on their apartment; and Yamato could usually be found in his bed, sleeping like the dead on top of the covers. Just the other day when Taichi had gone to visit, he had to take Yamato's shoes off since the poor guy hadn't even managed that. Yamato didn't have anyone to look after him, not with a workaholic father and a mother that lived on the other side of town. Taichi didn't really think of himself as a replacement for Yamato's family, but he at least tried to be there for the blonde. He owed it to Yamato, since the guy always somehow make the time for Taichi if he ever called him with a problem. _

"_No, I mean...he _really_ loves you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it yet?" Sora asked again, stretching the point as she blinked at him over the cheap plastic table. Taichi really loved Sora, at least he thought he did, but he still took her to the Macdonald's down the street from the school. Taichi didn't really care for anything fancy and had always just assumed Sora was the same way. But, she always seemed displeased to come here even though Taichi would pay for her; hugging and spewing poison out against some of their classmates. Taichi had never really listened before, just nodded his head when appropriate. But, this time she was talking about Yamato. _

"_Noticed _what_?" Taichi snapped back, hating being on the outside of whatever little secret Sora was talking about. He knew Yamato better than anyone else. There was no way that he had failed to notice something about Yamato before. He frowned at Sora, hating her for shaking her head and giving him a look as if he were very, very dumb. _

"_Oh, Taichi! Yamato's _gay_," Sora announced at last, as if was a big joke, popping a fry in her mouth afterward. Taichi just stared right back at her with his mouth hanging open, not left with anything else to say. How could Yamato be gay? He had girls hanging off of him more often than not, and Taichi had seen Yamato running from a crowd of fans more than once. People threw themselves at the poor guy because of his good looks- which Taichi had also begun to like himself. It was good that they were best friends, because it gave him the chance to hang out with someone that looked way better than any super model. Maybe he was over-simple because he was stupid, but Taichi just liked pretty things. Yamato was definitely one, gaining an almost unearthly quality when he got caught up in practicing the guitar. Yamato had been excitedly telling Taichi that he was going to start learning the bass the other day, not confessing his love for another man-especially him. Then again, Yamato didn't turn into smiles and bouncy energy for just anyone, a secretly happy person behind that cool and uncaring demeanor. How much of that was because Yamato loved him, like Sora said? Taichi had never thought about his opinion on same sex couples, that sort of thing not really his main concern. Everyone was allowed their own life, and all the better if Taichi didn't have to hear about it. He didn't know why there was such a scandal about it on TV, in the magazines and newspapers; deciding somewhere in his early teens to ignore the mass media altogether. This wasn't something he could very well ignore... not without a whole lot of effort. _

"_Sora, I would prefer it if you didn't talk about my friend," Taichi ground out politely between his teeth. She just shrugged, turning back to sip on soda once again; confident that the damage had been done. Taichi didn't have anything left to say after that, suddenly forced to examine how much time he spent with his best friend, how close they were, that Taichi had even used Yamato's toothbrush once when he had spent the night and forgotten his. Yamato had just laughed at him, called him a hair-brained idiot, and let Taichi use his. Now that small motion of kindness from months ago was suspect, and Taichi didn't like doubting his friends. He frowned back at Sora, who was responsible for it all. He didn't need to know that Yamato was gay. It hadn't made a difference before, but now Taichi didn't think he would ever be able to think about the blonde in the same light...not without imagining the type of man that Yamato might want-despite what Sora said, it couldn't be him. Taichi was just friends with Yamato, and that was all he could ever be._

Taichi frowned at that, sourly remembering the day Sora had managed to make him start looking at his best friend in a new light. It had been hard to talk to Yamato after that, not just because his band was getting more and more popular, Yamato didn't even have time to come to school, Taichi was always practicing soccer after school… avoiding the hell out the blonde because sometimes Yamato would just _look _at him and he wouldn't know how to react any more. And then high school ended. They moved away from home, losing contact so gradually that Taichi didn't even notice it until Yamato was completely gone. He would have never thought he'd see the blonde again; and then he showed up too drunk to even know where he was. Taichi was tired, exhausted enough to let all these weird thoughts out. He just wanted to go to sleep, but he knew that he supposedly gay and former best friend was there. Taichi pulled on his pajamas, not really _wanting_ to have to sleep on the couch tonight, not when his muscles were so tired and sore already. Would it really be so bad to share a bed with Yamato?

The said blonde was almost invisible in his bed, barely even making much of a lump in his sheets. All the hard work he had spent on tucking Yamato in was wasted; the body huddled up against the headboard and the wall. His knees were almost covering his ears, shivering with tension... or was it from the cold? Taichi didn't really have the time left to wonder, feeling like Yamato was in need of attention right now. He pulled the sheets aside to climb onto the mattress and was rewarded with a harsh gasp as Yamato tried to make himself even smaller against the corner he had found, his moon and star tattoo trembling on his visible shoulder

"Hey, Matt, buddy?" It felt so strange to use the blonde's old nickname, but Taichi felt like he had to say something. The blonde didn't seem to hear him, the shaking getting worse as Taichi settled down. He couldn't help a little moan of relief when he finally got to lie his spine down flat after such a long day- and then rolled onto his side to check out the back of Yamato's neck. No response, of course, and Taichi knew it would be out of bounds to touch Yamato right now. He sighed in frustration, settling down on the mattress as he forced his muscles to relax. There really wasn't anything he could do about it right now, so he might as well just try to get some sleep. He did his best to ignore to shaking that came from his bedmate, sure that it would calm down soon enough. He could start asking Yamato just what the hell it had all been about later in the morning; exhausted enough to close his eyes and drift.

Taichi had never prided himself as a light sleeper, but he _did _snap back to full awake the moment someone else touched him. It was Yamato, of course, his thinner body pressed against Taichi's side. The musician had his face buried into Taichi's shoulder, but he should see moisture gathering at the corner of Yamato's eyes. He was crying while asleep. Not really sure if it was appropriate or not, Taichi began to part that still-damp hair. It was thin enough to part easily, falling into silk underneath his fingers. He kept on doing it, twirling long strands around his fingers while shorter, finer hairs fell down; somehow able to catch what little light was sneaking in from the window in the other room. Taichi didn't understand how Yamato could have let himself go so far, knowing that he wasn't just a pretty, dumb blonde. He had always been better at schoolwork than Taichi- whenever Yamato _chose _to do it. Smart and beautiful didn't usually go together, as Taichi had painfully learned. Just when was the last time he had been able to go on a date with someone who didn't absolutely disgust him in some way? When was the last time he had gotten to cuddle with someone, as for a matter of fucking fact? Besides, Yamato had touched him first. Taichi had been happy with sleeping on the same bed, no contact, just helping a friend out. It was Yamato's own fault if he ended up enjoying this, continuing to pet Yamato's hair until those silent tears finally stopped and the blonde actually fell asleep curled up against him.

The ache was worse this morning than usual, clawing up his stomach until it hurt to lie still.

Good mornin' blues, blues how do you do?

He disengaged from a knee in his groin and an arm underneath his desk, stumbling over the foot of the mattress and toward the dresser without even prying his eyes open. He stumbled forward on autopilot, instinctive and blind. He would be needing a fix to wake up any further than that, so dead. Dead on the inside.

Dead on arrival, they thought that nothing would save me.

He had found salvation without them. Hand slapped down on top of cold wood, skin hypersensitive. A fumbling search with raw fingertips, searching for his case, his medicine. The need for more to get you by, you had enough, you wonder why.

There was nothing.

A panicked whimper. A quick search with his blurry vision to confirm what he had felt. His case wasn't there, this wasn't his dresser. Slowly, Yamato came to the realization that this wasn't his room, his place, his home, his apartment...nothing was his.

Goodbye to everything that I knew.

"Yamato?"

It was the most familiar sound he had heard in years. There was a rush in his ears, the room suddenly hitting him fresh. The wall was bare, the dresser was cheap, imitation wood, the bed large and shoved up into the corner as Taichi yawned and lifted his head up from light blue covers. He was the last person that Yamato had thought he would ever see, would ever call him by his real name. He blinked around at the dim bedroom; one long closet on the opposite wall of the bed, nothing more personal than a large calendar with a picture of a soccer player on it tacked the wall. He blinked at the 'September,' suddenly snapped back into reality so hard that it literally began to hurt. He had lost so much time that it wasn't even funny; a blurred haze of concerts and after parties that never had a pause between each other. Yamato had signed his life away in contracts years ago, stuck in litany of 'yes, sir' and doing what he was told, wear the outfits they threw at him, rewrite lyrics that were too edgy; forced to change the melody from a painful ballad to upbeat, teenaged crap-fodder. Yamato had started drinking just to hide from the embarrassment of producing such utter, fantastic pieces of crap. It had been key to his sanity to remain perpetually trashed after the release of the last album...but that had been in March. Yamato had blacked out a good couple of months, caught staring at Taichi with his mouth open in shock while the brunette scratched at his wild and obnoxious hair...his eyes slowly dropping down from Yamato's face. He was so curious he looked down as well, noticing two pale feet and a thin, naked body.

His.

"Oh, _shit!_" Yamato screamed loudly enough to put all those high school girls at his concert to shame. "Shit!" He threw his hands over his groin, realizing that it just wasn't going to be enough. "Shit. Shit!" Yamato dropped all the way down on his knees, doing his very best not to cry. Why didn't he have any clothes on? The wood floor was cold and smooth underneath his butt, a little detail that was enough to make Yamato drop his head down in misery. He couldn't help starting to cry then, _naked_, and not really sure why he was in that state after crawling out from Taichi's bed. Just how long had he been here? What had they done together? Yamato moaned and choked on his own tears as he vaguely recalled all those parties, the darkened room with other people, naked bodies, sweat, and the pungent stink of ejaculation. It had been nothing more than a small release, a little bit of cheap pleasure that Yamato didn't feel guilty about- unless he had done something with his high school crush! He gasped for air; ready to start wailing openly at the situation he had awakened to-

-and a soft sheet fell down over Yamato's head and shoulders. It was clean, something that Yamato was definitely not used to as he froze up in shock. He didn't even know he had been shaking until he finally stopped, tentatively digging his fingers into the sheet and pulling it around his shoulders. He looked up through his hair at Taichi in a plain T-shirt and pajama pants, now scratching at his stomach as he yawned and blinked away some of the sleep from his eyes before trying to talk to Yamato.

"Hey, man, sorry. I didn't expect you to jump out of bed like that," the last sentence came out slowly, as if Taichi was speaking to a particularly dumb child. Yamato would have been angry in any other case, if he wasn't already so worried over what fucking _day _it was. He didn't know how long he'd been out partying, but it felt like too long judging from his aching body.

"Oh, Jesus, Taichi, how long have I been here?" Yamato asked, fresh tears stinging his eyes. Taichi raised an eyebrow at him, still crouched on the floor in a desperate bid to cover himself up. Even with the blanket around his body, Yamato still didn't feel decent. He hated having to wonder about what he had _done _last, had he been making a fool of himself and was too drunk to know any better? Yamato clenched his eyes closed, trying to prepare himself for the answer but unable to get his defenses up.

"Since last night," Taichi answered with a questioning look on his face. "You feeling alright, dude?" he asked with a cold familiarity, his eyes hardening in disappointment. Yamato wasn't prepared for this. He hadn't had to deal with reality in a long time, the surroundings coming at him too fast. Even though Taichi's room was simple enough, there was too much to see. The fitted sheets around Taichi's bed were blue. There was a hamper by the closet. An extra soccer ball was resting against the dresser, looking shiny and new. He smelled whatever cleaner Taichi had used last on his sheets. He closed his eyes again; about to be sick...he was raw, open for anything to come in because he was so damn empty on the inside.

"Did...did we do anything?" he asked in a soft voice, unable to breathe afterward as he waited for the answer.

"You passed out before I could even get your phone number, babe," Taichi joked just like he did in high school, making Yamato so happy while at the same time so damn sad. Taichi hadn't really changed at all- unlike other people. Yamato stared up at his friend, realizing that Taichi hadn't gotten any taller, that his hair had somehow gotten even bigger, and he still had the best smile. Yamato felt himself risking a small smirk, comfortable in Taichi's presence whether he wanted to be or not. He still didn't have very many answers, becoming aware of a cottonmouth and ache behind his eyes when he attempted serious thinking. Taichi sighed; seeming to notice how upset Yamato was starting to get

"Hey, I'm gonna start breakfast. Why don't you change, you can borrow any of my clothes," Taichi offered easily with a lazy wave as he began walking out the door. Yamato just stared, not even sure what kind of karma he had to be here with Taichi right now. They had drifted apart so quickly after high school, or maybe it had been even sooner than that. Yamato couldn't be sure anymore when he looked back on his life. He just regretted never saying anything to Taichi, probably something he would have had to take to his grave. And now he was a complete fucking washed-up sell-out; the kind of musician he swore he'd never be. He had been so drunk, doped up, drugged out, _tripping _out...he wasn't even sure what high he was going to be riding down, watching as Taichi made the room stretch out with his exit walls growing far away floor becoming long ceiling pressing in-

Yamato shook his head, standing up with a lurch, pulling the blanket along with him like it was an evening gown. He couldn't stay still for long or his blood would settle. Without Taichi there to talk to, Yamato would get washed away by what was inside him. _I'm spinning out of control. _

Out of control.

Yamato hit the dresser first, pulling out the drawer to stare down at underwear and socks. Taichi wore boxer shorts still. He stared, wondering and considering for a moment, then decided that it really would be too weird to borrow a pair of underwear. He closed that drawer and opened up another, this time to several folded pants. Yamato figured a pair of jeans would be safe enough, dropping the sheet to step into the denim pants. They were too short, of course, but the waist was too big as well. Yamato had plenty of extra room when he zipped up the fly. The second he shifted to find a shirt, the jeans fell right off of his hips and hit the floor around his ankles.

He frowned, wondering how there could be such a difference in their sizes when Taichi was basically smaller than him. Hadn't the promotion agent handed out a memo at a staff meeting to cover the issue that he had gotten too fat after the European tour and they were losing fans because of it? Yamato had been weighed twice a week from that point on until he lost a satisfactory amount...and somehow it had never stopped even after he was finally announced as attractive again. Designer drugs had helped a lot too, always at ready supply by the second bass player that had joined their band two years ago...or was it three now? Yamato didn't know any more, didn't think of it as _his _band any more. He was just standing in Taichi's, pants around his feet, his pride long gone.

In the end it was a pair of sweat pants that still sagged dangerously, but at least stayed on. He found a black shirt with a white '26' on the back, not really sure what team it might be for. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, hoping that he didn't look too ridiculous. What a way to greet his old friend: hysterics over being naked. Yamato began the trek out the doorway, trying very hard not to focus on any details. He would be easily distracted right now, putting a hand to wall to steady himself and getting off on the simple texture underneath his fingers. Yamato gasped, yanking his hand away as if he had been burned and stumbled down the rest of the small hallway. It was like the floor was going to eat him alive, polished wood curving up and reaching for him. He wanted to jump up, but the ceiling was starting to come down on him too, all edges pressing in on his conscious. Yamato whimpered as everything was suddenly too close, too much, too fast-_real_-he didn't even know where he was. Sometimes being sober was even worse. He pulled at hair- was it his? - trying to fall down to his knees but gravity was gone and he just stood there, shaking...

"Hey, Yamato, you having trouble, buddy?" Taichi called out from the kitchen, obviously wondering when he was going to make it out of the hallway.

_More than you'll ever know_. He wanted to snap that out, but had long since lost the will to voice his opinions. He didn't have them any more, artistic creativity ruthlessly stifled every he tried to introduce a new song. Instead, it was the crafted, hopelessly catchy teenage fodder that Yamato hated so much. He would have never thought he'd sing it one day.

He went toward Taichi's voice, so fucking _desperate _to be around someone else. The ache was there, emptiness waiting to be unleashed from his stomach and start tearing away at his body. He had to have another person there, had to make sure someone was going to watch him. Last time he had come down, Yamato woken up in a German hospital since the band was apparently no longer allowed back into Sweden. So much for the UK tour- Yamato couldn't even remember what year that had been. Big chunks of his life were just plain missing, blackouts that seemed to have lasted months. Yamato didn't know if his memory was blown or if he should finally admit to having a drug problem...but the thought of being without the high made Yamato start to shake. He didn't have anything to fill up that hole inside, everything that he enjoyed out of life tainted and ruined. He was no better than a walking corpse, a shell waiting to be filled with something. Drugs had been working fine.

Yamato wondered if he dared asked Taichi where he might find some cocaine.

"I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to stand there," Taichi greeted when Yamato finally came into the small living-dining room that was open to the kitchen. Yamato blinked, wondering if he had been in plain sight for that small freak-out. He had to get out of here before it got worse, putting an arm around his side to hold in the ache. He just needed a little, just enough to survive-to function. Yamato didn't know what to say to Taichi like this, sober, aware of _everything _he had done...or some parts that he couldn't remember. All Yamato knew to do was sit there and look pretty, just like his manager told him to. If he was good, he might even get to write a track for the next CD. He vaguely wondered what it would be like to have artistic freedom, to finally get a chance to put emotions to a melody, painful feelings into lyrics. It had been so long since anyone had allowed him to be free.

He wandered slowly into the room, taking in the couch and television, the single ugly brown carpet on the floor, the stucco ceiling. Yamato fell into one of the three chairs at the beaten old table, wondering just what junkyard Taichi had saved it from. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do, but he knew that standing wasn't going to be a option much longer. He glanced over at Taichi, who was currently in front of a little gas oven and working furiously. Yamato raised an eyebrow at his seemingly apparent struggle, able to vaguely recall that Taichi couldn't cook worth shit. It may have been years, but there was no way that idiot could have possibly improved. Still, the gesture was appreciated. Hell- _anything _would be after having to deal with cold professionals and even colder band mates. Taichi didn't even know what he was doing by cooking breakfast for a washed-out rock star, in only a pair of plaid boxers and a baggy T-shirt. His hair was even more unruly than when he had first gotten out of bed, a hand reached up to scratch at the mess. Taichi hadn't changed at all, except he was older and more built up than he was in high school. He really was a complete muscle-head now, still so damn oblivious to Yamato's feelings after all these years. It was going to be hard to keep up the act, to suddenly fall back into a routine he hadn't used in forever; at least not since the last time he had seen Taichi. He hoped the ache didn't make him delirious and babbling, praying that he wouldn't say anything incriminating. He still didn't even know how Taichi felt about homosexuals, much less one with a horrible, pathetic crush on him.

There was the low popping sound of whatever Taichi was cooking echoing in Yamato's ears, the smell of smoke starting to sneak into the air. The idiot had said breakfast, but Taichi couldn't make anything beyond a bowl of cereal without screwing it up. There was a ding and suddenly a mad scramble for plates as toast popped out of the little oven on the counter. Yamato held onto the edge of the table with both hands to keep himself centered and focused in reality. He could hear the sound of Taichi working in the kitchen, but didn't dare look up from the set of white knuckles in front of him. His hands were the only things Yamato was sure that were real, that were his. Taichi still could just be a fragment of a bad trip, someone that he was just imagining. It had happened before. Yamato just steadied his breathing, getting used to being in his own body bereft of any residual buzz. It was a strange calmness pressing in on his temples and spreading down his arms, and he couldn't help but feel panicked. He was going to come down and be vulnerable to it all again, unable to jade to the crazy world of professional music like his band mates. He couldn't build up defenses good enough not to still hurt at night when the parties were over. The gossip and rumors _killed_ him little by little, and for as cool of front as he could manage while in public; when Yamato was alone, everything he had internalized was ready to eat him alive.

A plate and fork was set down in front of his hands. Taichi set down a glass of water as well, his own plate already to the left of them. Yamato hadn't even noticed when the brunette had come to the table, too blitzed to really know what was going on any more. Yamato stared at the silverware, light catching on all the curves, the plain white plate practically glowing on top of the wood table. There were two pieces of toasts, already buttered heavily and soaking into the bread. Yamato looked at the small, shriveled pile of black and yellow something in the middle, his eyebrows coming together as he slowly recognized what it must have originally been.

"Taichi, how do you manage to burn _eggs_?" Yamato asked aloud, probably the most civilized, structured sentence he had made in months. Surely the brunette hadn't even had the fucking _time_ to cook eggs this badly. It had to be a skill to ruin something so simple.

"Hey, don't be so rude to your host, man," Taichi snapped back as he took his seat, a smile on his face to let Yamato know that he didn't mean any real harm. Yamato could cry with joy at the gentle tease, so much different from the biting sarcasm and cold, _cold_ lies told amongst the people who were supposed to be his 'friends.' Yamato had long since come to detest the word altogether, the mere concept of completely trusting another person such bullshit that it left a bad taste in Yamato's mouth. He didn't have any friends, had lost all contact to anyone he had even remotely believed in long ago. And, as if to just contradict the shitty excuse of a life Yamato had grown in, Taichi decided to show up again. No words came to mind at the ridiculousness of this situation, but Yamato did hear a guitar solo from years ago echoing in his ears.

He really didn't want to be impolite, so he disengaged one hand from the table to take a piece of toast. It was warm and slightly hard, crumbs dusting down across his fingers. Yamato shivered and mutely took a bite of the toast, chewing and swallowing mechanically. It dropped down his throat and hit the hollow pocket of his stomach so hard that he grunted and winced in pain. His jaw hurt after that work and Yamato tasted blood in his mouth. He hadn't expected eating to be this _hard_, about to groan in pain at trying to digest what he had just put in. Oblivious to Taichi, he set the toast back down and picked up the water instead. He took a sip; not even realizing that his lips were dry and sticky until cool liquid hit the back of his throat. It slid down the sides of his stomach, tasting better than Yamato had ever remembered. He set the glass back down and panted afterward, already feeling dizzy and tired. Yamato leaned back into the chair with a sigh, turning his head over to look at Taichi.

Who was already staring right back at him.

"Is that it?" Taichi asked, his own meal untouched. Had he been watching Yamato this whole time? He was suddenly self-conscious, running a hand through his hair and staring down at Taichi's ill-fitting, borrowed clothes. He could remember the panic it had caused when Yamato couldn't fit into the standard skin-tight leather pants and decided to go on stage in a pair of jeans. Afterwards, Yamato couldn't recall another time so many people had yelled at him all at once, everyone angry and pissed off at _him._ He should have been used to it, should have hardened up after always being the subject of attention, but everyone's words still managed to hurt him after all these years. He could go for even some cheap Meth right now.

"I'm not hungry," Yamato mumbled, his teeth aching from having to chew that toast.

"You're fucking kidding me," Taichi snapped back immediately, angry for some reason. He hadn't even really raised his voice, but Yamato could tell. Even after all these years, Taichi really hadn't changed a single bit, hit mouth still twisting the same way as it always did whenever he was pissed. If it was because Yamato hadn't eaten the eggs, Taichi was just going to have to deal with it. He could barely handle toast right now, how was he supposed to swallow _that_? He was too tired to argue about this with Taichi right now, angry with the brunette for pushing the point.

"My stomach hurts," Yamato explained angrily, a little more honest than he would of liked. His stomach_ was _starting to hurt, a throbbing pain that was making it hard to stay upright. This was even worse than the leftover nausea from whatever high Yamato was coming down off of. That little piece of real food was enough to make his body realize just how mistreated and abused it was, every ache heightened and sharper now. It felt like knives were being stabbed through his gut over and over, hunching over the table and staring down at the glistening eggs shaking on his plate. He was going to be sick.

"Do you feel okay?" Taichi asked, worry immediately tainting his voice. Yamato immediately nodded, not wanting to cause any concern. Maybe it was because Taichi had known him before everything had turned to shit, but Yamato didn't want to let him know just how bad it was. Just how much he _needed _the hits of anything, not caring if he had to smoke, snort, or shoot it as long as it numbed the pain for a while. He didn't want Taichi to see that side of him, knowing that he had to get out of this apartment as soon as possible. How long had he been wandering around on his latest binge session? Taichi got up and walked around the table, each footstep echoing painfully in Yamato's ears before he realized it meant that the other man was coming closer now. A cool hand on his forehead, sliding underneath his bangs and deceptively soft on his face before Yamato had the common sense to jerk away. He glared at Taichi in offense, hating the way his heart was starting to speed up even as the short brunette stood back.

"Hey, you've got a fever. Maybe we should go to the hospital," Taichi turned around like he was about to actually get ready to leave, his half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Why had there been so much fuss over _him_ not finishing a stupid piece of toast? He didn't need Taichi's concern, or medical attention. He had gotten along fine without it for quite a while now, self-medication turning out to be very successful so far. Just the thought of a hospital sent chills down his spine; at the urine tests and when they drew blood, when the doctors would know exactly what he had been doing with his body.

"_No_," Yamato snapped out a little too quickly, Taichi's eye's widening in surprise at his stubbornness.

"I don't want… to go outside," Yamato had to catch his breath halfway through, feeling his strength drain out for him from the effort of holding a conversation. If they went to the hospital, he would have to show his ID… and the name 'Yamato Ishida' would set off so much gossip that the magazine writers and paparazzi would show up before he even had a chance to fill out a personal information chart. His insurance would probably call his manager, and Yamato knew he was going to be in deep shit for just _leaving_ in the middle of tour…or recording. He didn't know where they were in production right now, and that scared him more than anything else did. He could just tough this out for a little while, grinding his teeth together and forcing a weak smile onto his face. It hurt to use those muscles again; his lips twitching as he pretended like it didn't hurt.

"It's cool seeing you man, really. But…would you mind if I went back to sleep?" Yamato wasn't even sure what was coming out of his mouth, Taichi's face unreadable as his old friend stared right back at him.

"I'm just tired, you know. I haven't slept in forever, because I can't find my place. I lost my keys, and… and I'm not sure if I have a cellphone or not, I think I lost that too. But, I still have my wallet, right? It was in my pants, right? Where are my pants, I paid money for those-…"

A hand on his shoulder let Yamato know he was rambling. He froze up, not sure how to react to that gesture. He looked up guiltily at the same chocolate brown eyes that he had always known Taichi for… so damn embarrassed that he had ever felt anything for his friend back in their high school. He was so much older than that now, too old to believe in anything like love and romance any more. He furiously reminded himself that he didn't have a choice- had signed everything away for five years on some damn contract he hadn't taken the time to read thoroughly. He probably wasn't even going to survive until the end of it, being systematically used up and then some. He would have committed suicide long ago, if Yamato didn't suspect that someone had already bought the rights to the coverage of his death as well.

"You want to just crash in my bed for a bit?" Taichi offered at last, before the silence could become awkward. Yamato nodded, so pathetically grateful that tears began to sting at the corner of his eyes. He was so relieved that he forgot to get up from the chair, staring down at his mostly untouched breakfast mindlessly; wondering why he was so damn happy at knowing there was an open mattress and nobody to share it with. Eventually, Taichi urged him up from the table and helped him back toward the bedroom with a guiding hand on his arm. It soon became Yamato's only support, barely able to stay aware as he miraculously floated down the hallway, skin turned too numb to feel Taichi touching him any more. The jeans fell down again, of course, and Taichi just laughed uncomfortably and kept him moving forward. They got in the bedroom, Yamato saw unmade bed and was already diving face-first into it. Taichi tucked him in like a parent would have done; except Yamato's never had, so he couldn't sure. He just pulled the covers over his head, hiding away before darkness truly claimed him.

---

'Crash and burn' would have perfectly described Yamato Ishida. Taichi was glad that it was a rest day for the team, otherwise he wouldn't have been around to help Yamato. He would have guessed the blonde managed to get half a day's rest before Taichi heard low moaning coming from his bedroom. He paused in the middle of his daily exercise of sit-ups and push-ups, not sure if the building settling or what until he remembered that there was actually another person in the place. Taichi quickly went in the bedroom, having to peel back to the covers to actually see Yamato. The poor bastard was sweating like he was in the middle of a marathon, the borrowed shirt already soaked through and the spread underneath him darkening with moisture. Yamato looked like his stomach was trying to call out of his body under it own power, arms crossed over his sides and knees drawn up to his chest. Taichi put a hand on the thin, tense shoulder and could feel the fever pouring off his skin; obviously spreading in the short time he had left the blonde alone.

"Hurts," was all Yamato could manage, able to cause so much trouble for a guest that had only asked for a place to sleep. Taichi immediately left the room, his hands shaking as he went into the kitchen and began digging through the drawers. He didn't have very many options, finally locating phonebook, a beaten and stained leather-bound organizer; a gift from Hikari years ago from when Taichi had all the important phone numbers written down on one piece of well-used paper. It was the only one he had owned his whole life, names of people that he didn't even remember written down inside. It didn't take long to find the one he wanted, praying that the number hadn't changed. Two rings later he had his answer.

"-…is it now? Doctor Kido," came Jyou's voice, a little bit older, a little more professional now. Taichi had kept in a little closer contact with the man, since they still lived in the same city. Occasionally they ran into each on the street or on the rare occasion Taichi went out to visit friends, because Jyou and he were basically in the same group of acquaintances.

"Hey, Jyou, guess who?" Taichi sung out onto the phone, sure that his voice would be a shock. He didn't like to call people, preferring to talk face to face except when absolutely necessary. It also made him a little harder to get a hold of, but Taichi didn't have much free time in the first place.

"Taichi, I'm not giving you a free flu shot again. I can't believe I _ever _did that," Jyou started in a tired tone without any other greeting, ready to go into one of his nervous speeches. Sometimes Taichi wished the guy would just finally get made and start screaming and cursing at him like normal people did. He had asked Jyou for a flu shot years ago when he had yet to make it in professional soccer and had no medical coverage. It had taken outright begging on knees and a free chocolate cake, but Taichi hadn't considered that Jyou might get stingy about treating Yamato when he was so clearly in need of help. Things would be a lot easier if the blonde would just agree to go to the hospital, but as a budding celebrity himself, he could understand why Yamato wouldn't want to. The novelty of being chased around by cameras and reporters wore off real quick.

"No, Jyou, this is something different. You see, last night I ran into Yamato-…" Taichi began to explain.

"You what?" Jyou shrieked out, making Taichi jerk his ear away from the headpiece in self-preservation. He had figured that Jyou would be surprised, but not _that _much.

"I know, it's so weird; I can't believe it either. So, anyway-…" Taichi started again.

"Wait, Yamato is with you right now?" Jyou demanded fiercely, all of a sudden way too concerned. Taichi didn't like it, frowning at the wall in anger as he got the sneaking suspicion that Jyou knew more about the situation than he did.

"Will you stop interrupting me?! Yes, Yamato's here, and he's really sick," Taichi snapped out before Jyou could ask any more questions. Patience was _not _his virtue. He hoped that Yamato was okay, beginning to feel a bit guilty about just leaving the blonde alone in the bedroom when he was in such bad shape right now. He didn't think that Yamato was even able to move from the bed now, hell, he had barely even made it back from the dining table. It was like somebody else was toggling Yamato's consciousness on and off, and Taichi didn't like it at all. He wanted some help, and Jyou was the first person he could think of that might actually be able to do something about this. Taichi didn't know any other close friends that were certified doctors, glad that he had someone like Jyou around for times like this. It had proven useful before in the Digital World; Jyou definitely more cowardly and weak than the rest of them, but reliable to a fault. Taichi knew that he could always depend on the man to help him out.

"Bring him to the hospital, I can-…" Jyou offered predictably.

"I don't think he wants to go, he's pretty disorientated," Taichi took pleasure from interrupting Jyou this time, glancing over at the bedroom door in concern. He didn't hear any more moaning from the bedroom; Yamato more and likely passed out again. Taichi didn't know if that was a good thing or not at this point. All he could see was that something was wrong _inside_, since Yamato didn't have any visible wounds that would cause so much pain.

"Okay, I… I'm going to see what I can do about the rest of my appointments for today. I'll get over there as soon as I can, just make sure Yamato doesn't leave," Jyou ordered in a rushed and professional voice. Taichi didn't doubt that this would be how the man would sound if he was in the middle of an important surgery.

"Thanks, I appreciate it… but, seriously, what are you so worked up about?" Taichi finally asked, reading something beneath Jyou's obvious anxiety.

Stunned silence on the other line.

"I know that you don't read newspapers, but do you even _watch _television?" Jyou's voice was seesawing between furious and shocked. Taichi really wished that he could see the other man's face, hating telephones for exactly this reason.

"Hey, I've been really busy," Taichi started, not even sure what he needed to defend himself over. He just wasn't really interested in the television beyond occasionally catching the weather section of the news. Taichi didn't care about what new movies were out or which country was going to blow up the other. All he had to do was worry about getting a soccer ball from one end of the field to the other. He liked his life simple.

"If you looked at any sort of entertainment medium, you'd have known that Yamato's been missing for about a week now. He's been making so much trouble for himself lately…" Jyou trailed off, leaving the rest of it vague and unsaid. Taichi had figured that much, sure that he hadn't caught Yamato on the first night of whatever trip he had been on. A human being couldn't get that trashed in one day. Yamato didn't look like he had been taking care of himself by any stretch of imagination, and apparently the whole general public knew about it. Taichi scratched the back of his head, wondering just how popular Yamato's band had really gotten

"That's also why I don't want to take him to the hospital. He's a little bit _messed up_ right now, if you catch my drift," Taichi coughed, hoping that Jyou wasn't such a nerd as to be unable to catch the slang, stressing it hard. He was pretty sure that Jyou wouldn't appreciate him saying that Yamato was fucked up on drugs over his office line. There was another pause, not quite as long as the first one.

"Oh… My God, I thought the drug use was just a rumor from the tabloids," Jyou mumbled out in horror. "Keep him there, Taichi, I'm going to leave the office early," he changed his mind yet again, sounding desperate now. Taichi could hear the good doctor beginning to fumble around on the other end of the phone, something falling to the floor in the background.

"You knew? Just what's going on with him, Jyou?" Taichi demanded, wanting to turn on the TV right then and see if there really would be some sort of story on Yamato just like Jyou was saying. It seemed like the mass media would know more about what was going on than he did right now. So much for friends keeping in touch. It had just happened, and now Taichi was regretting it, glancing down at his phonebook and fighting down the urge to start calling up the rest of the Digidestined. Hell, he even wanted to talk to Mimi all of a sudden, because last he had heard of her, she was indefinitely in America. He wondered how the rest of them were doing now as Jyou stammered, trying to pick out the right words.

"Taichi, didn't anyone tell you?" Jyou finally managed, asking very slowly as if he was afraid of something. Taichi didn't like it at all. Just the way Jyou had said it was enough to put ice in the bottom of his stomach.

"Tell me _what_?" Taichi demanded, wanting to reach right through the phone and strangle the nervous little twit. Jyou was easy to get along with, if one could deal with the fact that it took him _forever _to actually say anything. Taichi didn't have the patience to deal with it right now, pretty sure that he could hear Yamato beginning to moan again.

"It's been a while, but I thought you knew… Damn it, Taichi, you idiot," Jyou's voice became a shaky, unsteady thing. Taichi waited for the rest of it, biting on his lower lip. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he had stopped breathing, nothing but quiet static on the phone line before Jyou could start again.

"Takeru's dead."

Author's Notes

So shoot me, I couldn't help it. Yamato was the original blonde bishonen for me back in the day when Fox was cool. Many thanks to Iie Nome for beta-ing and providing so many inspiring pictures. This is probably going to be ridiculously predictable fan service but… I have fun like this, so let's all just enjoy. I don't BELIEVE in the ending Digimon gave. The thought of Matt in space after having love children with Sora is even worse than gay sex.

Which, by the way, will be happening soon.


End file.
